


Awash

by Kantayra



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2009-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka, Atobe, a run, and a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awash

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'stormy weather' at writing_fest [here](http://community.livejournal.com/writing_fest/3639.html).

Tezuka woke up to thick, muggy weather, the sort that weighed the chest down and made even the simplest motions feel like swimming through molasses. So, being Tezuka, he naturally decided to go for his morning run anyway. Even his feet were more sluggish than usual, however, as he exited the camp dorms and headed for the mountain lake path.

Halfway down the driveway, he encountered one of the few other people in the world insane enough to be out running on a morning like this, too. Atobe paused for a minute, still bent over his right shoe, before he carefully pulled the knot tight and stood up.

Tezuka nodded to him. Atobe nodded back. And then, on some mutual signal, they headed off jogging down the path, side by side.

Tezuka had been considering, in one of his few weak moments, cutting his run in half today. He figured he could make up the rest in the nice, air-conditioned gym afterwards, maybe throw in an extra set of weights for good measure. That, of course, was before Atobe had showed up. Now Tezuka didn’t care that they’d only been at it for five minutes and already the sweat was plastered to his head; hell like he was going to show any weakness in front of Atobe.

Atobe’s pants were harsh and rhythmic beside him, sometimes one step ahead and sometimes one step behind, but they told the same story as Tezuka’s: no matter how exhausting this was, Atobe wasn’t giving up, either.

They hit the first hill, jogging at a steady clip, and Tezuka could feel the atmosphere around them like a rhythmic pounding in his ears, in time with their footsteps and his heartbeat and…

It look him a while to realize that there _was_ a pounding noise, a deep rumble that shook the sky.

“It supposed to rain?” Atobe asked, not even close to out of breath yet, even in this weather.

“Just humid,” Tezuka answered, although the sky spoke differently.

Atobe snorted. Apparently, he trusted weather forecasters about as much as Tezuka did.

It left them in something of a predicament, though. They would reach the bridge soon and, from there, it was another three miles into town. On a normal day, that would have been trivial, but if they were going to get caught in the rain…

“Afraid to get wet?” Atobe gave him a toothy smile, sharp and challenging and genuinely _delighted_ the way his usual smirk never was.

“Only that once we do, you won’t stop complaining,” Tezuka answered in his usual serious tone.

Atobe let out a whoop of laughter in response and picked up the pace. Tezuka dashed after him into the breaking storm. There was something liberating about the whole thing.

Tezuka caught Atobe again at the bridge, and they were both breathing hard now. The sky had congealed, darkened into a thick swirl of clouds that rolled over the mountaintops. The sounds of their shoes clanging against the metal of the bridge were joined by the slow patter of raindrops.

The storm was cautious at first, but then a wind gusted through, the air turned electric, and the rain broke, hard and fast and drenching to the bone.

The change in the pressure was a breath of relief after the humidity they’d been enduring, and Tezuka suddenly felt lighter, even as the rain dragged his clothing down. The bridge wavered ever so slightly in the wind, but neither of them broke their stride, and all too soon they were across it, back on firm ground once more.

The rain was cold, and Tezuka was grateful for the reprieve to his straining muscles. Matching himself to Atobe always pushed him to his limits and beyond; he knew it was the same for Atobe. He ventured a look at his companion through the slanting rain. His glasses were frosted with beads of water, and the distance was hazy with the force of the downpour, but Atobe stayed close, comforting, at Tezuka’s side through it all. Tezuka let out a sharp exhalation of breath and felt something deep inside him relax. It was almost a Zen-like state, running through the pelting rain, Atobe’s steps in perfect time with his own, almost as good as tennis…

They reached the next peak and started downhill again, this time on the final descent to the lake. They could see the water now, and the waves were angry: grey and choppy and violent. Mud spattered their shoes and bare legs, and three-quarters of the way down the hill, Atobe finally faltered.

Tezuka caught the slip just out of the corner of his eye, saw Atobe’s ankle twist in the mud, and then Atobe went down. Tezuka skidded himself in response, his left shoe sinking deep into the mud as he tried to stop his downward momentum. The mud slid under him, too, and before he knew it, he had tumbled to the ground as well.

He blinked, stunned for one moment in the aftermath of the fall, and then instinct kicked in, and he took an assessment of any potential injuries: nothing broken, knee bruised when it had bumped something hard, scrapes on the palms of his hands from when he must have used them to break his fall. More importantly, however, he’d lost his glasses. The rain poured down overhead, as Tezuka tried in vain to wipe the mud from his hands.

“Here,” Atobe was beside him, face blurry from the rain and Tezuka’s own myopic vision. Atobe held out a hand in offering.

Tezuka could have been blind, and he still would have known what the gesture meant. He reached out carefully and closed his fingers around the thin, wire frames in Atobe’s hand. “Ah. Thank you.” There were mud splatters all over the lenses, of course. Tezuka tried to wipe them clean with his shirt, but that was just as muddy.

“Are you all right?” Atobe asked.

Tezuka grunted. It had just been a skid. “You?” He put his still-muddy glasses back on to see that Atobe was covered in mud as well, and it wasn’t just the grime on Tezuka’s glasses.

“Fine, but we should find some place to wait out the storm.” Atobe rose to his feet, and he was favoring his right leg in a way that he definitely hadn’t been before the fall.

Tezuka nodded his agreement and got up with a helping hand from Atobe. They were soaked and filthy enough that Tezuka could barely sense any warmth in the gesture; Atobe was chilled, just as he was. “I recall a lake resort up the road.” He began to walk carefully, taking the path to the left, towards the lakefront.

Atobe didn’t comment on the slower pace. He hid whatever injury he had to his right leg surprisingly well. Tezuka figured Atobe would have forced himself to run the whole way, if that was what it took to keep up with Tezuka. He knew the feeling; a very long time ago in the match when they’d first truly met, he’d felt compelled to do the same idiotic thing. It was not an act of idiocy that he’d ever regretted.

The ground was getting more treacherous by the minute in the downpour, and the steep decline wasn’t helping matters. Lightning flashed overhead, and Tezuka skidded, only to be steadied by Atobe’s firm grip. This time, Atobe’s palms caught his shoulder and waist, and Tezuka could feel the warmth that had retreated deep into the core of Atobe’s body. The urge to lean into it was almost overwhelming.

They made their way slowly down the hill, starting and stopping with the changing cohesion of the mud until Atobe cut off to the side of the path and started moving through the tangled brush beside the path. After a few more feet, Tezuka followed him. Branches scraped at their legs, leaving thin, red lines in their wake. It was much faster going, though.

“Do you remember how much further?” Atobe was gritting his teeth now, and his leg seemed to be giving him more noticeable problems.

“Maybe a mile?” Tezuka guessed.

Atobe just nodded and continued onward. Tezuka ached just looking at him. The bruise to Tezuka’s own knee was making itself felt, but it was still bearable at this point. Neither of them mentioned any of this, of course.

Tezuka had forgotten about the tourist shop at the fork of the road, and they both breathed a sigh of relief as the small building came into view. The thunder continued rolling, unabated, and Atobe banged steadily on the door. The shop had a closed sign up, but the lights were on inside.

After several sharp knocks and a shout from Atobe, the door opened to reveal the face of a solemn, bearded, old man. “Oh,” he blinked at them. “What are you boys doing out in weather like this?”

“We got caught when the storm broke.” Atobe lounged against the doorframe and used his most ingratiating tone. “I don’t suppose you could open up for a pair of extremely desperate customers?”

The old man snorted. “You look like you’ve been wrestling in the mud.” He opened the door, though, and he flipped the sign to open for good measure.

Atobe strolled in with his usual lazy gait. If Tezuka hadn’t known better, he would never have guessed Atobe was injured.

“Thank you,” Tezuka said to the old shopkeeper and entered after Atobe. The door shut behind them, blocking out the storm. That was quite a relief, at least.

“I have some beach towels,” the shopkeeper suggested, eying them as they dripped all over the entrance hall.

“We’ll pay for them, of course,” Atobe promised. He wriggled a credit card free from the sweat band around his left wrist. Tezuka recognized the logo, but he’d never seen a card like it. He was willing to bet the limit on it exceeded his entire family’s annual budget.

“We have some souvenir shirts, too. Swimming trunks in case anyone forgot them…”

“Socks?” Atobe suggested hopefully. He kicked off his shoes. His own socks really weren’t much cleaner, so he peeled those off, too.

“Sorry, no.” The shopkeeper shrugged. “All we sell are flip-flops.”

Atobe left his credit card – surprisingly trustingly, Tezuka thought, although the security on that thing must be immense – on the register countertop and sauntered over to the souvenir clothing the shopkeeper had indicated. He snickered slightly, grabbed enough clothing for the both of them and a handful of extra towels.

Tezuka slowly and purposefully removed his shoes and socks, setting them neatly against the wall in contrast to the chaos Atobe had left behind. He watched Atobe all the while.

“Men’s room?” Atobe paused before the counter once more.

The shopkeeper nodded his head toward the back.

Atobe headed off.

“Again, thank you very much,” Tezuka bowed politely to the shopkeeper before padding off after Atobe.

“Hmm,” was all the shopkeeper said.

The bathroom was bigger than Tezuka would’ve guessed. Atobe locked the door behind them, but there was plenty of room for them to maneuver.

With a satisfied stretch, Atobe peeled his soaked, muddy hoody up over his head. The t-shirt underneath it half came up with it, and Tezuka turned away from the sight of Atobe’s tanned, toned abdomen. Instead, he removed his glasses, went to the sink, and started wiping in earnest at the mud.

Once he was satisfied that his glasses were as clean as they could get without lens solution, he set them neatly on the shelf under the mirror and began stripping off his own wet clothing. Until his shirt and shorts were gone, he hadn’t even realized how heavy they’d become. He froze for a minute, torn while he contemplated his underwear. It was just as soggy, heavy, and uncomfortable. On the other hand…

“If you’re not using the sink anymore?” Atobe pushed past him.

Certain parts of Atobe were blurry due to the Tezuka’s lack of glasses, but it was obvious enough which way Atobe had chosen to go on the wet underwear issue. Tezuka fought back the blush from his cheeks, turned around, and dropped his underwear as well. It felt wonderful, despite his embarrassment.

He grabbed the top towel from the pile behind him and began wiping himself dry. The towel came away streaked with mud, but Tezuka couldn’t have cared less by that point.

“I would kill for a shower,” Atobe commented. He had the water running, and Tezuka turned around to see that he had his right leg propped up on the sink and was running cold water over his ankle. It must’ve been swollen after the fall. Atobe absently rubbed the water up and down his calf while he did so, washing away what mud he could.

“Here.” Tezuka grabbed the next in the pile of towels. He’d thought Atobe had gone a bit overboard in grabbing so many, but now Tezuka could see that they’d actually need them all. “It’s better than nothing.”

Atobe nodded to him and wet the towel, using it as a makeshift washcloth to clean his body. Tezuka grabbed another towel and did the same. They didn’t say a word as they alternately rinsed their towels in the sink and continued washing off.

Finally, Atobe leaned in, splashed water on his face, and cast his wet towel aside. He turned around to get another towel to dry off, presenting Tezuka with a lovely (slightly blurry) view of his behind. Tezuka had always thought Atobe had a particularly nice behind.

Before Tezuka knew what he was doing, instinct struck out. It was a simple equation, really: one teenage boy plus second teenage boy bent over with his ass in the air plus wet towel in first teenage boy’s hands. The sharp snap of the towel smacking Atobe in the ass reverberated throughout the bathroom.

Atobe jumped, turned around sharply, and _gaped_ at Tezuka.

Tezuka gaped back. “I don’t know what came over me!” he scrambled over his apology. “It was pure instinct!”

Atobe’s look of surprise turned into a smirk. “I always knew you had it in you,” he rumbled in that husky drawl that made Tezuka’s toes curl. And then he dropped his towel over Tezuka’s head and fuzzed his hair through it _hard_.

Tezuka sputtered and swatted the towel back off, and Atobe laughed.

“Get dressed, or the shopkeeper will think you’re hitting my ass in an entirely different way,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka blushed and reached for his glasses once more. He turned his back on Atobe pointedly as he did so. The suggestion had caused certain embarrassing portions of Tezuka’s anatomy to stir to life. At least now Tezuka knew that the freezing rain hadn’t permanently castrated him…

He grabbed a pair of baggy blue board shorts and pulled them up, tying the drawstring tighter at the waist than he usually would have in an effort to keep certain things fully contained. Decent once more, he turned around to find that Atobe had already pulled a t-shirt on.

Tezuka smirked. The t-shirt was a painfully-neon aquamarine color and had two goldfish on the front puckering up for each other. Sparkly gold text sported the phrase, “Kissy Fishy.” It was obviously a shirt made for someone smaller, which had to be why it pulled so perfectly tightly over Atobe’s broad chest.

“Quite a fashion statement,” Tezuka commented blandly.

Atobe struck a pose, one shoulder rolled back, and fluttered his eyelashes at Tezuka. “Fashion,” he informed him breathily, “is entirely in _how_ you wear it.”

Tezuka gulped and backed into the sink. “Ah,” he agreed, “point.” He’d seen centerfolds that looked less seductive than Atobe did right now. Of course, the majority of centerfolds lacked the proper anatomy to seduce Tezuka. Specifically, they didn’t look exactly like Atobe…

Tezuka turned with dread to the second t-shirt Atobe had selected from the shelf. It was hot pink. Already this was a bad sign. Tezuka unfolded it carefully and sighed. Across the front, in scrawling pastel letters, were the words: “My boyfriend is hotter than yours!”

“Subtle as ever, I see.” Tezuka held his glasses in place and carefully pulled the t-shirt on over them.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Atobe feigned innocence.

“Modest, too…”

“Why, Tezuka,” Atobe smirked at him, looking him up and down once he had pulled down Atobe’s selection, “are you implying that _I_ am your impossibly hot boyfriend?”

Tezuka snorted and brushed some pink glitter out of his hair that had come off with the shirt. “Why must everything you do involve sparklies?” he asked rhetorically.

“ _Everything_ is better with sparklies,” Atobe answered anyway. He stuffed his old, wet clothes into one of the store bags the shopkeeper had given them. “You ready?”

Tezuka wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to go out in public like this. He refused to give Atobe the satisfaction of complaining, though. “I’m fine.” He shoved his own clothes into a second bag and unlocked the bathroom door.

The shopkeeper raised one eyebrow at them as they emerged, grunted, and shoved the credit card and receipt Atobe’s way. Tezuka looked outside; the rain was still pouring down, with no sign of abating.

Atobe frowned when he noticed the same thing. “Phone?” he inquired imperiously.

The shopkeeper snorted at his tone but gestured toward the back.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Atobe purred into Tezuka’s ear, his hand resting briefly but possessively on Tezuka’s shoulder. Now that they were out of the cold, the heat in Atobe’s body felt almost as though it were searing Tezuka’s skin.

“Fine,” Tezuka managed weakly.

Atobe strutted away. He had never been the sort to let an injury ruin a good exit.

Tezuka watched his ass go with a wistful sigh.

The shopkeeper coughed pointedly.

Tezuka started and looked away, glancing back out at the rain. He felt the unusual impulse to quash the growing silence over the pitter-patter of raindrops. “He’s calling for a ride back to camp, no doubt.”

The shopkeeper grunted, and his eyes looked down at Tezuka’s shirt.

Tezuka fought back the urge to blush. “He thinks he’s funny,” he explained weakly.

“Oh, he is.” The shopkeeper didn’t so much as crack a smile. “You boys must be hungry. I’ve got some instant ramen and a microwave.”

“Ah, thank you so much, but we wouldn’t want to impose.” It wasn’t anything Tezuka would ever normally eat. Right now, however, it sounded like absolute bliss. Contrary to his words, Tezuka’s stomach growled.

The shopkeeper grunted again and dug around under the counter for the instant lunches. Tezuka decided that, when he was an old man, he wanted to be exactly like this shopkeeper.

Atobe emerged from the back room as soon as the microwave dinged. “It should be about half an hour,” he provided and sat down beside Tezuka on the bench by the door.

The shopkeeper shuffled over to them and handed them two steaming bowls.

Atobe blinked in surprise and, before he could remember to behave like his usual, outrageous self, muttered out a, “Thanks very much,” in a voice that sounded thoroughly genuine. Then, he blushed and stared down at his bowl of steaming noodle broth.

The shopkeeper limped away without another word.

Tezuka shifted closer so that his and Atobe’s thighs just brushed. The warmth from Atobe’s body felt like an entirely different sort from that of the soup. Tezuka enjoyed both in silence.

They ate with the best manners they could manage when they were both ravenous. Tezuka was pleased to note that he wasn’t the only one having difficulty restraining himself, and he smirked when he heard Atobe slurp up a noodle.

“Oh, shut up,” Atobe grumbled good-naturally.

Tezuka slurped a noodle right back at him.

They ate companionably, and afterward Tezuka made sure to thank the shopkeeper again, while Atobe preened in front of the mirror with his new t-shirt. Tezuka was pretty sure the shopkeeper was trying not to laugh at them. Either that, or the slight shaking of his shoulders was the start of a seizure.

Atobe’s driver honked outside not too long after that. Wearing the flip-flops they’d purchased and muddy shoes and socks in hand, they raced out to the car.

Atobe’s driver held an umbrella and opened the door for them. “Master Keigo, Master Kunimitsu…”

Tezuka didn’t even want to know why Atobe’s driver knew his name.

Once the door shut behind them, they cuddled back into the luxurious seat, and Tezuka finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“So,” Atobe said.

Tezuka looked over at him.

“That wasn’t so bad for a first date, hmm?” Atobe grinned at him.

Tezuka snorted and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

Atobe just laughed.

Then something occurred to Tezuka. “If that was our first date,” he challenged, “does that mean I get to kiss you when we get back?”

Atobe blushed and looked out the window in a vain effort to keep the pleased smile from his face. “Don’t be crass. I never put out on the first date.”

“How about Friday after practice for our second, then?” The words were out of Tezuka’s mouth before he really had a chance to think about them. After, however, he _did_ think about them, and he didn’t entirely regret saying them.

Atobe gave him a sidelong look, as if considering his proposition very carefully.

Tezuka fought not to squirm.

“Friday,” Atobe agreed.

Tezuka breathed a sigh of relief and tried to keep his stupid heart from beating out of his chest and other even stupider things from springing out of his pants.

“And this time _I_ get to choose where we go,” Atobe announced with an air of finality just as the car pulled to a halt in front of the dorms once more. He stepped out of the vehicle regally, head held high.

Tezuka couldn’t help himself; he laughed and followed Atobe back out into the rain.


End file.
